Daughters and Sons

by Tom Fowler

  “What if Joanie hadn’t? What if he had killed her?”

  A tear slid down Ruby’s cheek. I popped the console and handed her a tissue. “It didn’t happen. You can’t get lost in hypotheticals. You made the best decision you could at the time.”

  “What am I going to do now?” she said as the tears flowed. “I don’t feel safe anymore. I know there’s danger in my job. I think about it every time I get into a car or go into a motel room with a john. What if this one is crazy? What if I remind him of his mother?” She sobbed a few times. “I can live with that. This . . . this hit too close to home.”

  “So stop,” I told her. “Get out of the life.”

  “And do what?”

  “Put your private school education to use.”

  “You think it’s that easy?” She turned and stared out the window. Her reflection wore a wistful expression. “How do I explain a five-year gap of no school and work?”

  “International travel.” I shrugged. “Caring for a sick relative. It doesn’t matter. Make it sound convincing and sell it in an interview.”

  “I appreciate your confidence, but I’m not sure it’s so easy to get out of this life.”

  “You don’t think Shade would let you go?”

  Ruby’s head snapped around to me. “You know Shade?”

  “I’m a detective,” I said. “You don’t think I can find out who your pimp is?”

  She wiped a stray tear from her eye. “Shade treats me well. A lot of girls have it worse.”

  “And you could have it better if you got out.”

  “Maybe.”

  Did Ruby know her father set up a foundation after she disappeared? I wondered if they were ever in contact. Vincent Davenport must have known what his daughter did, but what did Melinda know? I thought about dropping my knowledge of her family on her but decided against it. Ruby had been through enough for one night. She didn’t need thoughts of her family problems chasing dreams of a beaten Joanie through her head. “You could probably do whatever you set your mind to,” I said. “You just need to aim higher.”

  We pulled into the Gold Club parking lot. Ruby looked over at me, smiled, and kissed my cheek. “It’s sweet that you think so.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on you when I can. Call me if something gets bad.”

  “I will.” She gave me another smile, then got out of the car. Evening settled in, and cars crowded the parking lot. I pulled onto Pulaski Highway and made a U-turn about a block down the street. As I drove back up the road, I noticed a silver Benz make the U-turn behind me.

  Chapter 13

  As a snooty car consumer, I knew the general specs of a new Mercedes E-class sedan. I also knew the specs of my Caprice, which did not sport its stock engine or exhaust. The Benz might be a little quicker, but I felt confident my American-made V8—much newer than the car’s blocky body—possessed more top-end power. He couldn’t catch me on a long straightaway. Problem: downtown Baltimore features few of those unbroken by a string of stop lights. I knew the city well, but a lot of stops and quick turns favored the Benz.

  I didn’t let on I spotted a tail, and the other driver did his best to remain inconspicuous, even falling in behind a minivan. Instead of heading home via the most efficient route, I took my follower on a tour of the city. If we ended our game of follow-the-leader in the wrong neighborhoods with some seedy characters on the streets, they would ignore my older Caprice and focus on the newer, shiny silver Benz. It could be enough interference to allow me to escape.

  I considered calling Rich. He could probably quote me chapter and verse from the BPD manual on what to do if you’re being chased in a car. If nothing else, he could find us and come up behind the Benz. I decided against it—the reminders I would get of how I needed his help to bail me out would be too much. Instead, I called Rollins. “I’m being followed by Ruby’s stalker,” I said after he picked up. “I’m in the Caprice, and he’s in a silver Benz.”

  “Where are you?”

  Pulaski Highway split farther in Baltimore, becoming Orleans Street to the right and merging with Fayette Street to the left. I took it left. “I just got onto Fayette from Pulaski.”

  “I’m not far. I was headed to the Gold Club.” Tires screeched through the connection. “Lead him to Fells Point. We can probably lose him in the traffic down there, but if not, there are plenty of places to box him in.”

  “OK. I’m going to head over and take Broadway into Fells.”

  “I’ll find you,” Rollins said and hung up.

  Patterson Park Avenue was the next light. I made the left. The minivan did not follow me, but the silver Benz took the turn behind me. I didn’t carry a gun tonight. If I got stuck at a light, I would have to rely on the Caprice’s fortification against small arms fire and my own lead foot to affect a getaway. I resolved to leave the house armed for the duration of this case.

  After a block, I hit Baltimore Street and drove past Patterson Park. I wondered if my subconscious chose this route. There were myriad ways to get to Fells Point from where I called Rollins. Hell, I could have continued down Fayette and hit Broadway without diverting onto any other streets. Ruby’s case consumed a lot of my time recently. Was this my subconscious’ way of telling me I needed to prioritize Samantha’s murder? I regarded the park as I drove past. A few people walked on the trails, one being led around by a powerful Rottweiler on a leash. A Frisbee game wound down as dusk settled over the area. Behind my left shoulder lay my sister’s murder scene. I took a deep breath as I drove past and glanced in my rearview. The Mercedes hung back several car lengths, trying to give the impression we were simply going the same way. Another peek in the mirror revealed the absence of a front plate.

  I made the right onto Eastern Avenue. The Benz took the turn behind me. I looked in my mirror again. A black pickup now followed the silver car. Rollins had acquired us. Now I needed to drive in such a way as not to spook the stalker. The same went for Rollins, but I knew he could shadow drivers without letting them know he tailed them.

  The light at Wolfe Street went yellow as I approached. Normally I would have driven through it. This time, I stopped. Rollins called me. “You want to take him now?” he said.

  “Too public. This is a big intersection.” I looked around. People trolled for parking spots and walked deeper into Fells Point. “Too many folks around if it gets bad.”

  “All right. You lead us where you want to go.” Rollins hung up. The light turned green. I drove forward. Business picked up in Fells Point. Broadway was a main thoroughfare, packed with bars, restaurants, and curiosity shops. If this got ugly, especially with gunplay, innocent bystanders could be hurt. I avoided Broadway and made the next left onto Ann Street.

  Ann Street wasn’t free of watering holes—no road in this part of Fells Point could make such a claim—but it featured far fewer than Broadway. People still drove around trolling for parking spots, but this street saw much less foot traffic. After a few blocks, we hit old Fells Point, and the road shifted from asphalt to cobblestones. It made for a rocky ride as I crossed Thames Street and started down Fell, which ended at Henderson’s Wharf and my old apartment building. The Benz waited for a couple of cars on Thames, then followed me, Rollins in tow.

  I drove down Fell Street at a pace allowing the Benz to catch up. Once he did, I made a show of looking for parking. Rollins’ black pickup crept closer. We passed the Dead End Saloon. It didn’t mark the end of Fell, but it did announce the end of any attractions. Parking grew scarcer as the road narrowed, and Henderson’s Wharf loomed ahead.

  We passed Wolfe Street on the left. I slowed a little more. The Mercedes made the hard turn, and I watched it speed up Wolfe as fast as the cobblestones would allow. Rollins tried to follow, but his truck didn’t have nearly the turning radius of the agile German sedan. He stopped, backed up a few feet, and then finished cornering. His truck bounced on the cobblestones. I swung around and followed him.

  “I think he just went down Aliceanna,�
� Rollins said when he called me a moment later. As we approached, the light turned red. “Dammit!” Rollins yelled. We waited for the light. Cars lined up coming down Wolfe. The signal turned green. Rollins burned rubber and jumped the left ahead of the oncoming cars. I waited for the four vehicles to pass before I made the turn.

  “Any sign of him?” I said.

  “Don’t see him yet,” said Rollins. “He had time to lose us. There are so many turns he could have made.”

  We drove around the area for five minutes and didn’t see any sign of the Benz. “This asshole is pretty clever,” Rollins said.

  “He’s dangerous, too.” I filled him in on the beating Joanie took for Ruby.

  “You’re gonna need to be careful.”

  “I know.”

  I wanted to work Samantha’s murder. Something needed to shake loose somewhere. If I could devote my time to it, I would uncover something. Instead, I got immersed in this case, where hookers were stalked and beaten, and their stalkers followed other people. I missed the weight of a pistol at my side as I drove home.

  * * *

  I took a nap. Why not play further havoc with my sleep patterns? I woke up about fifty minutes later. Gloria watched a movie in the living room. I heard what sounded like fireworks and laughter. I walked into the kitchen and foraged in the refrigerator to see what I could make for dinner. Gloria must have heard me rummaging around. “Are you cooking?” she called from the living room.

  “If I find something,” I said. I had a full refrigerator and enough culinary talent to put it to use. I sought inspiration as I looked in drawers, hunted around on shelves, and checked the contents of the freezer. I pulled out a fresh turkey breast, some baby carrots, an onion, and several small red potatoes. I chopped the onion, quartered the potatoes, and arranged them around the bird in a pan. While the oven heated, I brushed the vegetables with a mix of olive oil and soy sauce and sprinkled rosemary over the potatoes. I put the pan in the oven and turned around to see Gloria in the doorway.

  “What’s for dinner?” she said, grinning at me. I knew the look.

  “Turkey breast and vegetables,” I said. “If I get industrious, I might whip up a salad, too.”

  “I paused the movie.” She sashayed into the kitchen. Yoga pants—one of man’s finer inventions—hugged her hips. Gloria wrapped her arms around me and kissed me. I took a couple steps backward into the counter and thought she might throw me down atop it.

  Which I would not object to, of course.

  “You’ve been working so hard recently,” Gloria said, her breath hot on my neck. “Want to get industrious upstairs?”

  Nearly an hour remained on the kitchen timer. I put my hands under Gloria’s backside and hoisted her up; she wrapped her legs around my waist. “I would love to,” I said.

  * * *

  Gloria lay snuggled against me, her head on my shoulder, her hair spilling over my chest. I blew a few stray strands out of my face. I told her about Ruby being spooked by Joanie catching a beating meant for her. “This guy is escalating things,” she said. “Does she know you know who she is?”

  “No,” I said, “I figured she’d been through enough for one night. She seemed surprised I knew who her pimp was. I tried not to be offended.”

  “Did you succeed?”

  “Barely,” I said in my best faux hurt voice.

  “Doesn’t she want to do something else with her life?” Gloria said, ignoring my tone.

  “I think she does, but she needs a serious push to overcome self-doubts.”

  “Her friend getting beaten in her place wasn’t enough?” said Gloria.

  “Apparently not.”

  “You said this girl is educated, right?”

  “Seton Keough for high school,” I said.

  Gloria nodded her approval. Just like game recognizes game, so does ritzy private school education. “She should be able to find something.”

  “She doesn’t believe it, though. There’s a lot of self-doubt there.”

  “Should there be?”

  “I don’t think many strong and self-confident women end up as prostitutes,” I said.

  Gloria nodded against my shoulder. A wisp of her hair blew into my face. I pushed it away. “And you said she had some traumatic experience that caused her to leave home. Who knows what kind of damage it did?”

  “I’m going to keep after her to get out of the life. One of these days, I’ll hit the right combination to unlock something to allow her to believe in herself.”

  “Or you’ll drive her away.”

  I shrugged. “I can’t control how she reacts.”

  “But you don’t want anything to happen to her,” Gloria said.

  “Of course not.”

  “Any stalker sightings since the attack on the other girl?”

  “He followed me earlier tonight.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?” Gloria propped herself up on an elbow and frowned at me in concern.

  “It was no big deal,” I said. “I saw him right away and called Rollins. He picked us up heading into Fells Point. The guy got away, though.”

  “This is the second time he’s done that to you.”

  “Thanks for reminding me.”

  “You should take your mind off it.”

  “What do you think the previous forty-five minutes accomplished?” I said with a grin.

  Gloria’s cheeks colored. “Come on . . . let’s have dinner. I’d just started the first Lord of the Rings movie before you got in. Curl up on the couch with me and take a night off. You deserve it.”

  I pondered her words for a second. “I believe you’re right.”

  * * *

  Gloria sat at the end of the couch. I lay on my side, facing the TV, my head on her lap. After dinner and a bowl of popcorn, she restarted the movie. She offered to go back to the beginning, but I assured her I’d seen The Fellowship of the Ring many times already. We watched the end of the fireworks celebrating Bilbo’s birthday. My thoughts drifted.

  Driving past Patterson Park reminded me I needed to devote more time to Samantha’s case. I’d planned to eschew Ruby entirely once I learned my sister had been murdered, but I couldn’t abandon her. My lack of progress in trying to learn anything about my sister’s killer helped, too. I walked a cold trail and didn’t know where I could build a fire to heat it.

  Gloria crunched popcorn above my ear as I pondered. I couldn’t think of anyone else to talk to. Even if I tracked down every cop who worked the case and every reporter who followed it, what would they remember after thirteen years? People got murdered in cities all the time; pretty girls in Baltimore didn’t constitute a special class. No, whatever evidence I uncovered would be what I found on my own. I kept hoping for some small clue allowing me an epiphany. Then I would have my revenge.

  My thoughts drifted back to Ruby. Joanie’s beating spooked her, but I couldn’t convince her to get out of the business. What if I could help her get a job? The BPD wouldn’t hire her. I knew a few lawyers, both with the Public Defender’s Office and in private practice; these were also dead-ends. Everyone else I could recommend her to didn’t exactly work a legal trade. I doubted Joey Trovato needed (or wanted) an assistant, and working with someone who looked like Ruby would distract Joey too much.

  “Are you paying attention?” Gloria said, pulling me back from my reverie.

  “Of course,” I said.

  “OK, what did I just say?”

  “You asked if I was paying attention,” I pointed out.

  “What about before that?”

  “I wasn’t paying attention then.”

  I turned my head up. Gloria shook her head and smiled down. “You’re lucky I love you.”

  “No doubt. What did I miss?”

  “I was asking you if you read these books before you saw the movies.”

  “I read them in high school and again in college.”

  “Are they good?” she said.

  “It probably helps if
you like the genre. I don’t know if being a fan of the movies is enough. I like Tolkien, but he’s not for everyone.”

  Gloria thought about it for a moment. “I might like to try them.”

  On my TV, Arwen brought a wounded Frodo to Rivendell. I remembered seeing this movie in theaters for the first time and thinking Hugo Weaving had come a long way since Agent Smith. Who wouldn’t want to play Elrond? Playing the king of the elves must’ve constituted an upgrade over the last two dreadful Matrix movies.

  Elrond. The name tugged at my brain. I couldn’t figure out why. I watched the scene and looked for anything that would spur a memory or an insight.

  Then it hit me. Elrond.

  I got up from the couch and marched down the hall to my office. This might be my first chip at the stone.

  * * *

  I sat at my PC. I’d come in here with an idea and the determination to act on it but not a clear direction in which to proceed. The revelation hit me and now, I didn’t know what to do with it. Gloria’s soft footfalls moved down the hardwood. “What is it?” she said. “You took off like you just had a breakthrough.”

  “I should have seen it sooner,” I said. I started typing out a list of all the names I could remember from the three Lord of the Rings books, even characters like Thom Bombadil who got snubbed when the big screen came calling.

  “What? Seen what?”

  “The guy my sister talked to—the guy she met, the guy who killed her—used the handle Rondel. It’s just a corruption of Elrond. I didn’t see it before.”

  “It couldn’t mean anything else?”

  “I can’t imagine what,” I said.

  “So now what?”

  “Now I’m going to come up with a bunch of similar names. Then I’ll have to find out if any are in use.”

  “You think this guy is still using the same kind of screen name?” Gloria said.

  “People are creatures of habit.”

  “Can I do anything?”